


What Lovers Do In The Dark

by nightfever (drfeels)



Category: Saint Seiya
Genre: First Time, M/M, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 20:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11192469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drfeels/pseuds/nightfever
Summary: A storm shakes Seiya's small boathouse apartment, and leaves him and Shiryu alone in the dark, storm raging outside. Their first night alone together since Shiryu's confession and Seiya's reciprocation of it. Together, they explore what lovers do in the dark.





	What Lovers Do In The Dark

**Author's Note:**

> They're about 16/17 in this fic, since I set it in a vague time after Hades. I wanted to try to write a gentle, cozy sort-of feeling of their first time together, I hope I was able to portray that feeling in this work. I hope you enjoy.

Neither of them had noticed when the phone lines cut out, or when the wind began to blow stronger across the sea, but they notice now when Shiryu goes to call Saori’s personal car for a ride. The line is dead, no dial tone, and it’s only now as he glances out the window he sees the drops of rain beginning to trickle down.

Seiya turns his head, too, watches the faint clouds that have gathered, or what can be seen of them in the lights of the marina. He glances at the clock, and Shiryu follows his gaze.

It’s late, 22:45.

“It’s gonna storm.”

“It is.”

He swallows thickly, because Seiya seems on the verge of adding something to his thought. 

“You can’t walk all the way back to the mansion in the rain,” Seiya says. Dark eyes, full of excitement, full of nerve, turn and set their gaze on him. “You could just sleep here.”

And he swallows again, his throat was fine a minute ago but now it feels thick and there’s something that’s beginning to spark in the inner layers of his skin, something that runs down and sets all his nerves raw and makes him shiver. The summer air is thick up here in this small apartment. Hot. Suddenly he’s aware of how his clothes are sticking to him, how his hair is uncomfortably slick against the back of his neck.

Seiya’s eyes don’t leave him. “You’re staying?”

“Yes, then. I’ll stay.”

It’s Seiya’s turn to swallow deep and hard. “I don’t have a spare futon.”

The chill that runs through him times itself just as there’s a bright crack in the sky outside, a bolt of lightning that hits too close and too bright. A rumble shakes the walls, the floor, their bones. The lights fizzle and cut out without a warning. Seiya jumps to his feet and fidgets fruitlessly for a second in-place before he realizes there is, sadly, nothing he can really do. He can only see the faint outline on Seiya’s skin, the sliver of light that comes in faintly through the windows from the outside, where the street lamps are still shining.

“Do you have candles? Flashlight?”

“Maybe, in the kitchen drawer.”

They stumble their way in and another crack of lightning lights their way for a moment. Seiya reaches for the drawer on the end, opens it and sorts his way through an assortment of things—tape, string, what looks like his bank seal, rolling around aimlessly, at which Shiryu groans internally—until finally he produces a thin white candle and a flimsy book of matches, bearing the logo of the pachinko parlour down the street.

He grasps them firmly in one fist and takes Shiryu’s wrist by the other, in a gesture that is wholly unnecessary but welcome as they journey back into the apartment’s main room. Seiya places the candle carefully on his desk, skilfully sets one of the matches alight, and the room begins to softly glow. When he turns back around his face is bathed in it, warm and inviting against the summer storm raging in the background outside the window.

His hand reaches out for Shiryu’s again and Shiryu gives it as Seiya splays their fingers out, palm to palm, then gently curls his fingers over Shiryu’s. They meets his lips in a gentle kiss and when he pulls back he grins sheepishly.

“I wanted to ask you to stay even before the storm.”

His skin prickles again, then begins to crackle with electricity. Something begins to burn within him, slow and sweet and so terribly deep he almost feels sick with how overwhelming it is.

“I would have said yes.”

He has liked Seiya since the moment Seiya stopped his heart. He has dreamed about this, during lapses in judgement when he allowed himself to dream. A fantasy. It had been a mere fantasy until a few months ago, when finally, after everything, after what was nearly the end of it all, he decided to stop harboring what was merely becoming a burden. A burning, deep-sweet burden.

Burdens of unrequited love are not supposed to be said out loud, let alone answered.

Let alone answered with yes.

He is almost certain now that next time he is near-death he won’t come back to life, because something this miraculous cannot coexist with that. His fortune has suddenly become far, far too good. He cannot possibly have done anything in his life to deserve fortune of this magnitude, even assisting in putting Hades himself down does not reap enough good luck for something like this.

And at that time, he had cried. Seiya had returned it with tears too, with a kind touch to his face to wipe them away, with a gentle and clumsy kiss.

He gives another now, a quick but soft kiss to Shiryu’s lips as he leads him to sit on the edge of the bed.

This is their first time alone, together, in the dark.

He knows what lovers do in the dark.

He’s had more than one frank talk with Hyoga, who’s had Shun by his side more than two years now. From those talks he had been fantazising, and in the deep recesses of his heart, in a place he dared to hope, preparing for this day. He has memorized all those things lovers do, all the stories he’s been told, the books he’s read, the pictures he’s seen. There are Greek murals and pots and plates, blatant in this nature, stories of how Orpheus truly fell with his lyre, head thrown from his body. Ganymede. Hyacinth. He’s read them all, time and time again.

He laces their fingers together as Seiya had done, but with his folding over Seiya’s, and he brings his lips to kiss each joint, then opens them to kiss the palm, the undersides of all those fingers, rough and callused from so many battles, but still so gentle in touch. Seiya brings up his thumb of his own accord, runs it across Shiryu’s bottom lip, then curls all the fingers blessed with those small kisses inward and slips them behind Shiryu’s head, into his hair, and he brings their lips to meet again.

Seiya’s lips are sunburnt and chapped but still so soft, they give so easily way to his tongue as it slips between Shiryu’s lips and Shiryu does the same but when Seiya pushes back harder, slowly begins to ease him down on the bed, he lets himself be led. Seiya brushes hair away from his neck, long black strands clinging to his fingers as he moves them so he can plant a kiss on Shiryu’s cheekbone, the barest whisper of a kiss across his eyelids, the bridge of his nose, and then the hinge of his jaw, behind his ear, down to the base of his throat.

He pauses after that one, his fingers lingering at the buttons on Shiryu’s shirt, toying with them.

“Can I?”

“Please,” he chokes out, and he doesn’t mean it to sound that way, like he’s aching for it, aching for any touch Seiya will give him, but it’s the truth.

Seiya is intent on unbuttoning each one carefully and it takes a solid minute before the shirt finally comes completely undone and he half-sits up to shrug it off, gently drops it on the floor next to the bed. For a moment Seiya doesn’t do anything but look at what he can see in the near-darkness, uses his fingers to trace the hard, firm outlines of each of Shiryu’s muscles and Shiryu finds himself breathing slowly, like he doesn’t want to breathe too deep or too hard and upset the delicate rhythm Seiya has. 

Hands splay across his chest and down and Seiya uses them to steady himself as he slowly begins to kiss, and when he comes back up to kiss Shiryu on the mouth again Shiryu slips his own hands under Seiya’s shirt. He slides his fingers up against smooth, firm muscle and the hard edges of his ribs, around to the curve of his spine until Seiya raises his arms and slips it off over his head and it joins Shiryu’s in a slow-growing pile on the floor.

Their chests meet for the first time this way, skin against skin as two lovers. Seiya is warm to the touch, hot-blooded and burning and he smells like long-faded sunscreen and salt and sweat. Seiya kisses his chest again, that spot where on the opposite side the dragon’s claw lays, right over his heart. When he comes up their eyes meet and he smiles, dives in for another kiss on the mouth and his hand slips its way under the waistband of Shiryu’s pants.

He feels restless inside himself, the way Seiya is stroking him through the fabric of his underwear and he’s trembling but it’s not enough. He wants Seiya’s hot hands on him, directly on his skin, burning their imprints into him like the coils of a stove. He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his own pants and underwear and brings them down. The room’s air is hot, but still a cool shock to the sweat-slick skin of his thighs. Seiya sits back on his heels and observes as he kicks the pants off, and there it is, he’s hard and wanting and fully naked in the candlelight.

“It’s big,” he says, and he rubs his thumb against the seam where Shiryu’s thigh meets his hip. 

“You’ve seen it before.”

“I have.” Seiya runs his tongue across his lips, and they shine in the low light. A streak of white-hot lighting from outside lights up his face, a rumble of thunder quickly following, shaking the walls again as Seiya shifts his knees and shakes the bed in the same fashion. “But I’ve never looked at it like this before.”

The rumble of thunder vibrates in his bones. It’s suddenly very hard to breathe as Seiya takes his thumb to gently rub at the slick tip of his arousal.

He tries to breathe evenly and steady his voice, but it won’t come out the way he wants it to. “Like what.”

“Like thinking about…what to do to it. Touching it.” His gaze flicks back to Shiryu’s face, a gaze that’s dark and heavy and half-hidden by thick lashes. “Thinking about how when I touch it, it’s going to make you feel good,” he breathes, “hopefully really good.”

“It already feels good.”

“I know.” Seiya’s voice sounds dizzy, delirious. “I want to make you feel even better.”

His thick, gentle fingers slowly stroke up Shiryu’s shaft, thumb still circling the head, and he makes a fist and begins to slowly grasp him tightly and stroke fully. Shiryu finds himself opening himself up, thighs butterflied open and flat against the sheets, hips rocking upward into Seiya’s grip. He’s so dizzy with the heat, the thick air that makes every breath feel like it’s not enough. His knee brushes against Seiya’s outer thigh, against the rough grain of denim. Ah, he’s forgotten, Seiya is still in those tight jeans, and when he looks he sees how hard Seiya’s arousal is straining against them. He swallows down a deep, feverish heat that settles in the pit of his stomach between his thighs and deep between his legs, deep in the soft pink recesses of his guts.

“Seiya,” he murmurs. “Seiya, if you don’t stop, I’m going to come.”

Seiya pauses and he lets his rocking hips down to meet the bed again as Seiya’s grip loosens. He sits up, gently presses an open palm to Seiya’s chest and waits until he feels Seiya give and he loosens that button, unzips and lets Seiya loose and the jeans join the rest of their clothes on the floor. Seiya’s still in his white briefs, wholly virginal and straining and there’s a wet spot forming and the scent is thick in the dense, humid air. He bends to them, dark hair falling forward across his shoulders like a curtain. 

He presses his lips to it through the fabric. Seiya’s taste, Seiya’s arousal, the scent of it and the feel so different from anything he’d ever imagined. When he’d imagined it, it’d always been just him on the bed, face down, Seiya rutting into him clumsily, or the fantasy of kneeling before Seiya like a knight before a king, licking his way up Seiya’s thighs to a soft length that hardens in his mouth. In those dreams he always tells Seiya _‘It’s good, it’s okay to do anything you like to me. Close your eyes.’_

But here, before him on Seiya’s bed, is a gentle Seiya that takes Shiryu’s hair between his fingers and gently digs them in and breathes “Shiryu, _Shiryu_ ,” in a breathless tone as he folds the waistband of Seiya’s briefs under his fingertips and traces a line across his hipbone with his tongue and buries his face in that dark patch of hair that slowly reveals itself before him.

And Seiya is sitting half-up on his elbows, trembling but determined to watch. He watches as Shiryu’s lips, partly obscured by the black strands of hair that drape over Seiya’s belly and hang in front of his face, slowly bring themselves down to kiss him. Shiryu opens his mouth and curls his tongue and lets the head of Seiya’s erection rub against the inside of his cheek. He shivers and as he swallows small drops from Seiya’s length they burn his throat, and the gentle nudging of the head against the inside of his cheek is setting him alight. The candle on Seiya’s dresser flares its flame, as though it’s connected, as though it senses whatever keeps boiling in him, hot in his stomach. 

When he brings the head back to the center of his mouth, against his soft palate, he feels it hit the roof just before the back of his throat. The sensation is overwhelming, something beyond just the sensation of tickling or pleasurable touches, something that makes him take Seiya deeper, rub him with his tongue, stroke his fingers around what he can’t take in, and when the head of Seiya's arousal slips and rubs the inside of his cheek again his thighs shake. He’s never thought before it’s possible to get off just like this, to have sex with Seiya just with hands and mouth alone, but more and more he feels his luck might run out and he might just die right here, just like this. 

Seiya can’t control the rhythm of his hips and he places a hand to steady them but he almost can’t, he doesn’t want to and Seiya begins to tremble and the bed shakes and Seiya gently starts to rut into his mouth. Saliva drips out from the gap in his lips, coats Seiya’s length, leaves his mouth wet and messy and swollen at the edges. He is amazed how it feels, how the arousal in him, the wave of feverish heat continues to grow and his own arousal between his legs is starting to throb heavily from this alone.

“Shiryu,” Seiya is breathing heavily, and he groans softly, “Shiryu I’m—stop, please—“

He has to be firm with his grip on Seiya’s hips to push them back into the bed and pull his mouth from Seiya’s erection, to stop Seiya from letting his body just follow its own accord. He wipes the slow-dripping saliva from his chin, gathers his hair back behind him. Seiya is slick and hard and shining, still laying on his back, breathing slow and deep.

Sitting up slightly, he says, “I have some stuff, in my desk drawer, if you can—”

The candle wobbles slightly as he flicks open the bottom drawer at Seiya’s instruction, pulls out a tube of lubricant and a single condom hidden under a notebook Seiya has probably never had any reason to use. It’s not expired, which makes him wonder if Seiya’s only bought it recently, if maybe just for this. He pushes that thought to the back of his head and starts to slick up his fingers.

“Ah,” Seiya says, seeing the condom. “Yeah I got that but…we don’t have to go all the way.”

He closes the tube of lubricant with a click and sits himself with his legs spread wide as Seiya watches. “Do you not want to?”

“No, I just thought um, I…” Seiya appears to be losing his ability to speak properly and just watches, entranced, as Shiryu circles himself with a finger. “You’re going to—?”

He stops in mid-motion. It hasn’t occurred to him that maybe Seiya might find something strange about this, the things Shiryu already knows how to do, things that only give away his longing, his tendencies. 

He wets his lips with his tongue, they’ve gone strangely dry. “I’ve practiced,” he says, gaze steady and level with Seiya’s own.

Seiya says nothing, and his gaze moves from Shiryu’s eyes downwards, to where Shiryu’s fingers are paused, waiting.

He rocks back and sits on his heels, shifts closer to get a better view in the soft candlelight, watching intently as Shiryu presses the tip of his finger into himself, and the rest slowly follows, and he cannot help but gasp at that, because to him this has always felt right. It always feels so good to fill himself slowly, to push into himself, the sense of relief it brings is unlike anything else. He feels up inside himself, feels the way his body presses down on himself, feels up into the soft, hot recesses of himself. Then, slowly, he pulls his finger out a bit, then slips it back in, knowing Seiya is watching, watching as he softly fucks himself on his own finger, hot and tight and slick and shining.

He’s about to add a second when Seiya’s hand gently touches the back of his own. “Wait,” he says, and his voice is trembling, “can I try too?”

“You want to?”

“I want to.”

His gaze is determined, honest. It’s something that pierces right through him, even in the near-dark.

He had always thought to someone else this seems the sort of thing the person preparing to receive should do. It’s not a place parts of the body normally go, let alone fingers. Seiya’s fingers, part of hands that have thrown so many hits, hands that have purposefully supported the body that stands up again and again. Hands that protect.

Hands Seiya slicks up with the lubricant, hands that gently pull Shiryu’s fingers away from himself, hands that gently repeat his own actions. Seiya places Shiryu’s hand at his wrist. 

“Guide me,” he says. “Show me how to do it.”

They both watch, transfixed as he folds his fingers around Seiya’s own, folds Seiya’s other fingers in but keeps his center finger straight. It circles gently before he leads it forward, inside him. The pad of Seiya’s finger disappears, then his second knuckle, then up to the hilt and a soft sound escapes Shiryu’s lips again, that soft sigh of relief mixed with a slight moan. Seiya. Seiya’s finger inside of him. He lets Seiya’s hand go.

“Now you move it,” he says, a bit breathless, “slowly, until you feel it start to get loose, then you add another.”

“So…like this,” Seiya says, and he begins a slow, torturous pace, the same rhythm Shiryu had used before, but since it’s Seiya, it’s become painful. Unbearable. It’s not even the physical sensation of having him there, but the mental one, the one of knowing Seiya’s hands aren’t just on him but are inside him. Seiya is holding him, completely, from the inside-out, unraveling him.

And then the second finger slides in easy, soft and slick and he has to lay back because it’s too much, he’s starting to shake. Seiya curls his hand, Seiya takes his time feeling all of the soft-hot-slick pink inside of him, stroking gently against the walls until finally he finds a spot that makes Shiryu’s thighs shake and his back arch and his hands slowly fist and dig into the sheets.

The third finger is harder, it’s starting to stretch to a limit, as far as he’s gone without feeling uncomfortable. Seiya snakes an arm under his waist, pulls him closer, kisses at his thighs and his hipbones and strokes hot fingers down his spine. He withdraws his fingers slowly, wipes them on the soiled underwear that’s still around his own knees before he kicks it onto the floor with everything else.

He leans forward and presses his lips against Shiryu’s stomach, kisses him and rests his cheek against Shiryu’s waiting, trembling body. His eyelashes tickle as he blinks and his breath does the same as he exhales slow and steady against Shiryu’s skin. “Should I enter now?”

“Yes,” he breathes, and Seiya helps him turn over on his stomach, helps him spread his thighs and Seiya has opened him and he can feel it, he can feel himself open and waiting for Seiya to push in.

Distant thunder rolls across the sky outside. The house doesn’t shake anymore.

When Seiya pushes in, slowly, the bed does. 

This is more than he’d expected, his thighs trying to give out already but he holds himself steady as Seiya eases himself inside. It’s tight, it’s going in smoothly but it’s thicker and deeper than anything he’s ever tried with his own fingers. His whole body begins to seize up from the overwhelming sensation of it. Just feeling the push against his nerves is too much, the pain is just tightness and pressure, accompanied by an uncomfortableness that doesn’t last once Seiya seats himself inside and he feels Seiya’s thighs hit the back of his own. 

Seiya’s fingers trace lines down his back, the pattern of scars he’s had that have never quite healed fully, the faint trace of his dragon tattoo that remains even when he’s not engaged in battle. It’s a comfort, the pads of Seiya’s fingers traces down his sides, his spine, gently urging him to relax, relax.

“Relax, Shiryu.”

Ah it’s not just the fingers, Seiya’s voice comes out soothing, a bright streak in the candle-lit darkness. He breathes deep, tries to let himself go, reminds himself that this is not the Seiya of his dreams. This is the real Seiya, in flesh and blood, holding him from behind, deeply seated inside him. He feels his blood rush hot to his head, so much it makes him woozy. Seiya leans forward to kiss between his shoulder blades and down the notches of his spine again.

“I’m going to try to move,” he murmurs against the skin. 

His head pulls away, taking the warmth of his lips away with it, and he finally feels Seiya shift inside him. He can feel the resistance of his own body as Seiya pulls out, then pushes back in, and he feels as slowly his body begins to give. The head of Seiya’s length brushes against that spot his fingers found and it makes his muscles weak. More than anything, more than the physical stimulation, what makes him throb between his thighs is thinking that this is Seiya inside him, Seiya’s fingers gripping his hips as he thrusts in.

Seiya, who he has always loved since that first fight, Seiya who stopped his heart and started it again, that is the person taking him like this. Seiya’s warmth against his back, Seiya’s slickness inside him.  
Even with Seiya’s erratic thrusts and gradually increasing rhythm and the fact he still feels too-tight and tense for it, it still feels so gentle. It feels like he’s being treated with care, Seiya’s lips meeting the small of his broad back, Seiya’s fingers now and then stroking at his skin. Seiya’s voice, murmuring softly, then moaning, “Shiryu, Shiryu, Shiryu—!”

It feels like forever to have Seiya inside him, a moment that freezes, like a deep breath sharply inhaled before a finishing move. In reality, the moment between the crack of lightning that snares one of the masts on a ship in the harbor in its grasp and the roll of thunder that echoes after it is the time it takes for Seiya to begin to move, and then to come. His skin is hot, burning and singes Shiryu to cinders as he collapses on Shiryu’s back, still inside but spent, and takes a moment to breathe before he gently pulls out. Shiryu finds himself gasping at that, at the feeling of having too much inside and then suddenly nothing at all.

He’s still plenty hard and without relief and Seiya notices, kisses his temple and whispers, “Sorry, I was too fast, I—“ before Shiryu presses his lips over Seiya’s own to silence him. He doesn’t want to hear any of that, not in the midst of all of this. 

Seiya pushes his side and rolls him over, cradles Shiryu in one arm. His hand moves down again to stroke and he holds Shiryu as he finishes him off, kisses at his chest, licks at his nipples and the curve of his pectorals and then buries his face in Shiryu’s neck under a veil of black hair and he sucks at a spot under Shiryu’s jaw that makes him keen until he comes in Seiya’s hand. His thighs shake and Seiya rubs him, strokes all of it out of him until he’s left sinking into the mattress, feeling nothing but fatigue and Seiya’s strong, warm arm against the center of his back.

He’s still kissing him even though he’s come, Seiya’s kissing his cheeks-temple-forehead-eyelids-nose down to his lips again, lips which are now swollen and raw. Seiya kisses them with care, as his own are raw too, feverishly burning and they taste like the salt of the beads of sweat that have run over them and dripped down, crawled slowly down Seiya’s neck.

It’s still so hot.

Outside the remains of the ship’s mast are smouldering, just small flickering flames that the rain is still snuffing out.

Seiya lays snug against his chest like he doesn’t want to leave, fingers tracing over a thick, long-healed scar left from the time Shura plunged his hand deep into Shiryu’s ribs, hoping to rip the life from him. But they’re still here, yet, both him and Seiya, miraculously alive and now, miraculously laying in each other’s arms. Seiya’s head is warm, comfortable and his hair tickles as he shifts against Shiryu’s shoulder. He smells like he’s been out in the sun.

Finally the stickiness is too much and Seiya pushes himself up and off the bed, peels the condom off and tosses it in the wastebasket near his desk. His legs won’t move, he tries but he’s exhausted. All the life has drained from his muscles, they’ve gone limp and it takes all he has to roll onto his side into a more comfortable position. 

Seiya comes back from the bathroom with a damp towel and a small packet of tissues.

“Here,” he says, “this is all I’ve got. I’d offer a shower but…power’s out, the water will be freezing. Maybe if you were Hyoga.” He laughs but then stops suddenly, awkwardly, “Not that you would be I mean—I wouldn’t—“

Now he’s the one laughing, something that bubbles out of him at the sight of the distraught look on Seiya’s face. “I know what you meant. Thanks.” 

He cleans off his stomach, cleans the remainders of lubricant from his thighs, wipes the sweat beading from his forehead with a clean tissue. Seiya loans him a spare t-shirt for bed and it’s too short to cover anything, so Seiya loans him underwear, too. He smells entirely like Seiya now, inside and out, and finally enough energy seeps back in his legs to wash up in the bathroom. Seiya blows out the candle and they both fall into his bed, which is too small and shakes whenever one of them moves, but when Seiya curls up against his chest he feels that if the bed were any bigger, it’d be hard to enjoy the necessity of this.

“I think I’ve always loved you,” Seiya says sleepily. He pulls Shiryu’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. 

The blood rushes to his head and pounds in his ears. His heart rate goes up by a hundred and twenty and explodes and he’s flatlining here, on Seiya’s dirty bedsheets. His heart wells up in his throat and threatens to choke him. Tears spill over his lashes but he tries to bite them back, because he doesn’t want to have this conversation now, he only wants to revel in his happiness. 

“I know I always have.”

Seiya buries his face in Shiryu’s chest. “Your heart is pounding.”

“It’s because you’re here.”

He knows, he knows it is because he can feel his blood rushing, boiling. Love. He’s finally deeply, honestly in love. He is loved. And he always has been. That thought is satisfying, the idea that he hasn’t been misreading Seiya’s gestures over the years, the little ones that made him hope, that made his skin prickle and the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“I’ve never forgotten that day,” Seiya says. “I never will.”

He barely remembers any of it, but he’s seen the camera replays enough times that it might as well be his own memory by now. The point on his back just below the dragon’s claw throbs, twinges just slightly. It always does. There is a fist imprint there in his muscles, in his bones, preserved down to the last detail like those Greek vases and plates and their depictions of Apollo and Hyacinth.

He shifts his leg and feels the bit of soreness that’s developing in his muscles, soreness that he knows well will last to tomorrow. Something else to preserve. His body will become a museum of all the places Seiya has touched him.

He presses a kiss to Seiya’s brow and slowly lets himself sink into warm drowsiness. 

“I’ll always remember.”

Tomorrow he will find out what lovers do in the daylight.


End file.
